Chapter Fourteen #2
She started to tidy up the countertop. Only an hour had passed, but it felt like no time at all, and as she worked, whatever spell they had woven while they cooked together—though Tom would never refer to making tea as “cooking,” she recalled with a smile—broke, and all her worries rushed back: her work, her parents, Esa, Nadiya. Tom.
“I hope my parents aren’t terrorizing Rob and Barb,” Sameera said.
“They just got back. I heard the truck in the driveway a few minutes ago. I can finish cleaning up here, if you wanted to check on them.”
She didn’t, actually, but she probably should. Tom stopped her with a hand on her arm. His casual touches were becoming more frequent, but the electrical jolts didn’t seem to be going away. Maybe it was the Alaskan chill.
“I mean it, Sameera. Thank you for agreeing to go along with our ruse”—he quirked a brow—“in front of Rob and Barb. I’ll make you my three favorite meals anyway. I’m grateful.”
“I lost the bet,” Sameera said. “Though I still think you cheated. Admit it, you’ve got a bottle of red food coloring in your pocket.”
“You’re welcome to give me a pat-down, beautiful,” he drawled, throwing his hands wide.
Sameera laughed and, after pulling on her boots and jacket, went to face her parents.
To no one’s surprise, her mother had taken full command of the kitchen. The counter was lined with shopping bags full of groceries, and Tahsin was rooting inside the Cookes’ large fridge while Naveed, Rob, and Barb watched.
“Where do you keep the ghee?” Tahsin asked, her voice muffled by the heavy fridge door.
“Do you mean butter?” Rob asked, googling the term on his phone.
“Certainly not,” Tahsin said, affronted.
“I think I have some from when I tried to cook an Indian curry last year,” Barb said, peering in the pantry.
Naveed noticed Sameera hovering by the doorway and beckoned for her to join him at the kitchen table.
Swallowing her resentment and embarrassment, she entered the kitchen and took a seat beside him.
Her father was always the peacemaker, the first one who wanted to make up and sweep any unpleasantness under the rug.
It used to annoy her, but right now, she appreciated his willingness to make space for her without admonishment.
They had to keep up appearances, at least for the Cookes.
It wouldn’t be fair to drag Tom’s family into their issues, especially not when Tahsin had sprung a last-minute dinner party on them all.
Naveed set up the Cookes’ coffee grinder alongside packages of whole spices—cardamom, cumin, cloves, cinnamon, coriander, and fennel seeds—which Sameera knew he would use to prepare a fresh garam masala spice mix used in almost every dish.
Sameera clocked Barb’s wince as he started grinding and made a note to send her a brand-new coffee grinder once this was over.
“It looks like you have everything under control,” Sameera said.
Tahsin, finished plundering the refrigerator, pierced her with a look.
“You can start chopping onions since you’re here,” her mother said gruffly. It was more of an order than an acknowledgment or apology, but at least Tahsin wasn’t ignoring her. Wordlessly, Sameera moved to the ten-pound bag of onions on the counter and started sorting.
“I know inviting people over for dinner is a huge imposition,” Sameera said, not looking at her mother, but Rob waved her protests away.
“Nonsense. I like Abu Isra. Makes the best hummus in the state. Should have had him and his family over for dinner years ago. The more the merrier, especially at this time of year.” In that moment, Sameera could see Tom in his father: the same generous spirit and can-do attitude that made his son so much fun to be around, at least when he was acting like himself in Atlanta.
To Sameera’s pleasant surprise, it didn’t take long for both the Cookes and the Maliks to relax and let their guard down. They were soon laughing over potent spices, and then Rob offered to make a batch of his latest eggnog flavor, green tea and licorice—minus the alcohol, of course.
“I started the yearly eggnog experiment because of Tom,” Rob explained after his second cup.
Sameera suspected he had spiked his own drink.
“He loved to mix up ingredients and experiment. I thought he was going to become a scientist when he got older.” The older man seemed wistful.
“We would make a batch and have his mother try it. She pretended to like all the flavors, of course, and Tom was so pleased.”
“He still likes to experiment,” Sameera said. “When my mom showed him how to make samosas, he made a whole batch with different fillings, each inspired by different cuisines, from Hakka to vegetarian options.”
Rob finished his eggnog. “I’m glad to hear that, glad he’s doing well for himself down south,” he said.
“Tom would love to talk to you about his life in Atlanta, if you asked,” Sameera said, and Rob seemed thoughtful. Maybe he would listen to her. Then again, habits were hard to change, as she knew all too well.
Sameera started chopping onions, wondering how she had wound up on sous-chef duty while Esa and Cal got off scot-free.
Barb came over to help, and Sameera joked that the first step in Indian cooking was to open a bag of onions and keep dicing until Tahsin told them to stop, whereupon they would have roughly half the onions the recipe required.
“Don’t listen to Sameera. She can’t cook,” Tahsin said, in full generalissimo mode.
“Cut those very fine, beta, no one wants an onion wedge in their channa.” Her mother was a whirlwind, simultaneously washing spinach, dicing tomatoes, and opening a giant can of chickpeas.
They had decided on karahi chicken, marinated in a flavorful blend of yogurt, green chilis, and coriander, plus garam masala; a savory vegetable biryani made with fresh produce; channa chickpea curry cooked in a rich brown gravy; and palak saag, a North Indian dish that was her mother’s favorite and involved slowly simmering spinach and mustard greens with aromatic spices.
Sameera and Barb worked companionably, making their way through the onions before mashing garlic and ginger together into a paste. “Maybe Tom will join us,” she said. Barb threw her husband a quick look before leaning close.
“Tom doesn’t like to cook when Rob is around. I think he’s out helping Emily with something.”
Sameera nodded, keeping her face lowered so Barb wouldn’t notice her consternation.
Tom hadn’t mentioned that the reason he didn’t cook in Wolf Run was because of his father, but it made sense.
He also hadn’t said anything about helping Emily when they were filming in the guesthouse.
Not that he owed her an explanation, of course.
Barb turned to her, expression earnest. “You don’t have to worry about Emily, you know.”
“Tom and Em go way back,” Rob chimed in from the dining table, where he had clearly been eavesdropping.
“Dated all through high school. I thought for sure they’d get married.
They were good for each other. When he came home halfway through his sophomore year, we all expected him to pop the question.
Instead, they broke up.” Rob shook his head.
“They even had one of those cutesy couple names. What was it, Barb?”
Barb must have noticed how quiet the kitchen had gotten. “Who can remember? It was years ago. Ancient history.”
“‘Tomily,’” Rob said, snapping his fingers. “Catchy, right? Don’t know what happened there, but Tom likely screwed it up.” He disappeared through a door, muttering something about looking for the linen napkins.
“I’m sorry about that,” Barb said quietly. “Rob can be critical. He can’t help but snipe whenever Tom comes back to visit, though I’ve told him again and again that he’s pushing the boy away.”
Sameera’s eyes were on her parents now. Though their conversation was muffled by the hiss of mustard seeds popping in oil, her eyes were drawn to their faces, the lines on her mother’s forehead, the gray that almost entirely edged out the brown in her father’s hair.
She remembered thinking the same thing. If only Mom would stop criticizing me.
If only Dad would stand up for me. If only they tried to understand me instead of condemning or trying to control me.
“Believe me, I understand,” she said, matching Barb’s somber tone.
Barb smiled, and it transformed her face.
“You and Tom are a much better match. I truly believe that when you’re meant to be with someone, things have a way of working out.
I wasn’t born in Wolf Run; I came here to visit a friend.
But then Rob and I found each other and decided to build a life together.
That’s the key, my dear—love isn’t a magic bullet.
It just opens a door, but you both have to do the hard work to walk through it together. ”
Sameera was touched by Barb’s words, but also alarmed by how far away she was from the truth. “I don’t know about that,” she hedged. Mindful of the bet she had recently lost, she settled for a weak, “It’s early days yet.”
Which, naturally, her mother overheard, judging by her tightening lips. Great.
“You’re being modest, my dear. Tom came home to us, all because of you.
I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on,” Barb added happily.
She looked up to see what Tahsin was up to, muttered something about turmeric on the counter, and hurried away, leaving Sameera alone with her thoughts.
As a desi girl, Sameera was no stranger to guilt.
But what she felt now made her want to dig a hole in the backyard and let Atlas eat her for lunch.
Quietly excusing herself, she made her way outside, wrapping her arms tightly around herself for warmth.
Luckily, the sun was out, though not for much longer; she raised her face to the sky, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply.